


Best Kept Secret (santa)

by earlgreytea68



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Christmas, M/M, Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:28:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22079944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earlgreytea68/pseuds/earlgreytea68
Summary: Two things you should never mix: Secret Santa, and the guy you have a crush on. This, at least, is what Patrick Stump initially thinks.
Relationships: Patrick Stump/Pete Wentz
Comments: 38
Kudos: 156





	Best Kept Secret (santa)

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a Christmas story and then we blew past Christmas and I had, like, six hundred words written, so here, HAVE A NEW YEAR'S STORY INSTEAD. Trying to start the year off right with some good old-fashioned fluff! Start as you mean to go on. :-) 
> 
> May 2020 be much better all around. Happy New Year, friends.

Patrick gets Pete for his Secret Santa. It’s a goddamn disaster.

This is what he tells Joe. “It’s a goddamn disaster.”

“Why?” asks Joe. He’s happily munching on peanuts because he got Audrey for his Secret Santa and Audrey collects snowglobes and is the easiest person in the entire office to buy a gift for.

“Why?” says Patrick. He’s so astonished by the question that he repeats it in a screech. “ _Why_?”

“You can get him a terrible t-shirt. You know. Like he always wears. The ones you always complain about.”

“They’re _terrible_. I’m not encouraging that habit!” Patrick is appalled. Eventually he’s going to hit his limit of being appalled but he’s not there yet.

“You know,” Joe remarks casually, “the only reason it’s a problem you’ve got Pete as your Secret Santa is because you want to bone him. If you didn’t want to bone him, he’d be pretty easy to buy a gift for, but you’re just stuck on what to get him because you can’t think past boning him.”

That’s it: He might have hit his limit of being appalled. He stares at Joe in horror. Joe keeps eating peanuts happily.

Pete shows up because Pete always shows up at the worst time. “What are you two talking about? You know you’re supposed to keep your Secret Santas secret, right? That’s why it’s called _secret_.”

Pete is wearing stupid skinny jeans and a stupid t-shirt that reads _The Not Fucking Around Club_ and he has stupid eyeliner on and stupid hair and a stupid smile, and Patrick really hates this stupid start-up he works at for their lax dress code, like, Patrick should be subjected to _none_ of Pete Wentz.

Patrick snaps, “I know how Secret Santa works.”

“Just checking. So. For instance. If you were my Secret Santa. Just saying. Hypothetically. What might you enjoy?”

Patrick really, really thought he’d hit his limit of appalled. He can’t believe how much the universe keeps finding to keep appalling him. “I am not your Secret Santa,” he says, strangled. What would be the odds of that? That he would have to buy for Pete and Pete would have to buy for him? That’s impossible.

“I cannot confirm that one way or the other,” says Pete. “Because _secret_.” He winks. He wanders away.

Patrick says faintly to Joe, “You don’t think he’s going to buy me a Christmas present, do you?”

“Bet he gets you condoms,” says Joe.

Patrick steals his peanuts.

***

To be as irritating as possible, their office Secret Santa can’t just be one gift. Oh, no. It’s got to be a whole _series_ of gifts. It’s all supposed to be “playful” and “fun,” trying to guess who your Secret Santa is. It’s a misery. Patrick doesn’t even want to have to buy Pete _one_ gift, never mind an entire assortment.

The first day, he leaves a lottery scratch ticket on Pete’s desk before he gets in. Which isn’t hard to do, because Pete never drifts in before eleven. When Pete gets there, he crows, “Oh, wow, Triple Jackpot, awesome! If I win, I’ll totally share with my Secret Santa.” Pete looks across the cubicles and winks at Patrick.

Patrick, annoyed he got caught watching Pete, scowls and goes back to his work.

He’s feeling a little guilty because he bought the scratch ticket on his way to work that morning, and meanwhile Patrick’s first Secret Santa gift is an entire elaborate mini-desk-drumset, constructed out of thimbles and buttons, with matches for drumsticks. It’s some kind of fucking homemade gift that someone took time to construct, and it miffs Patrick. Secret Santa gifts are supposed to be stupid and bad.

His Secret Santa had better fucking not be Pete. When he arranges the mini-drumset on the corner of his desk, he glances in Pete’s direction to see if Pete is giving him a meaningful look, but Pete is flirting with Beth, practically falling down the front of her sweater, so whatever.

***

On the day the second Secret Santa gift is due, Patrick stops by the deli on their office building’s first floor and picks up a gift card. It’s good. Practical. Anyone would appreciate a gift card to such a nearby, convenient source of caffeine and food.

He tucks it on Pete’s empty desk and goes to his own desk, where he finds a planner. With a note: _For all the organization you love so much. –Secret Santa_.

_Are we supposed to be leaving notes now?_ Patrick wonders sourly. But he can’t deny that, well, he loves planners. And it’s nice to get one so close to the end of the year. It’s a thoughtful gift, a gift from someone who’s paid attention to him, who’s _noticed_ him. Patrick looks around for Pete, to gauge if the planner is from him, but he’s nowhere to be seen.

And then Patrick opens the planner. 

His Secret Santa has added embellishments to this planner. There are musical notes scattered throughout the pages, snatches of phrases that Patrick recognizes as belonging to his favorite songs, the ones he sometimes finds himself absently drumming along to as he listens to them while he works.

Patrick is so lost in the planner that he is caught by surprise when Pete exclaims, “Aw, a gift card to Mike’s Subs! Awesome!”

The front page of Patrick’s planner reads, _This belongs to Patrick Stump, the cutest employee in this place. If you’re not as cute as him, drop this planner now!!_

Patrick closes the planner.

***

“I don’t know if it’s a Secret Santa or a stalker,” Patrick grumbles.

“You’re just feeling guilty because you’ve put zero thought into your Secret Santa gifts,” says Joe.

Patrick really hates Joe. “They know _a lot_ about me, this person giving me these gifts.”

“They bought you a planner. They know you’re organized. Patrick, you literally walk around with a calendar all the time. This is not detective-work.”

“It’s got lyrics from all my favorite songs.”

“You wear a lot of Bowie and Prince t-shirts. This is just someone who pays attention to you, Patrick. It’s probably…” Joe gives Patrick a meaningful look. “ _Someone who likes you_.”

Patrick frowns. He spends a moment lost in his own thoughts, while Joe keeps playing his videogame. And then he blurts out, “I’m scared my Secret Santa is Pete.”

“Your Secret Santa _is_ Pete.”

“No, like, I mean, he’s buying for me, and I’m buying for him.”

“Oh, yeah,” Joe says. “Definitely. For sure.”

“For sure?” Patrick echoes.

“There’s no one else who thinks _you’re_ the cutest guy at work, let me tell you. I mean, _Pete_ is definitely the cutest guy at work.”

“That’s not true,” Patrick protests grouchily. It’s totally true. Whatever. He scrubs a hand through his hair and sighs.

“You could be nice to him, you know.”

“To who?”

“ _Pete_.” Joe whacks him on the back of the head. Lovingly.

“I just…like… I just…”

“You could do worse. You could do _much worse_.” Joe actually looks at him, so Patrick knows he’s being really serious. “What are you so afraid of?”

Patrick, after a moment, decides to grant Joe honesty. “He’s the cutest guy at work,” he points out. By which he means: Pete is obviously way out of his league.

“He likes you,” Joe says, and goes back to his game. “Put a little more thought into the last two Secret Santa gifts, and see what it gets you.”

***

Patrick is freaking out. This is because at first he thought: _I can’t put more thought into the gifts, I don’t know anything about Pete_. And then he actually sat down to think about it and… _he knows an awful lot about Pete_.

Like, oh my God, maybe Joe’s right and Patrick really likes Pete, like, he’s been paying subconscious close attention to Pete ever since Patrick started working there. Pete wears band t-shirts. Patrick notices people who wear band t-shirts. Like, Pete’s taste in bands is terrible but Patrick can’t help but notice him. What alarms Patrick is how much else he’s noticed: Pete likes poetry and pretentious novels. He’ll sit at lunch with his nose buried in a book. His metabolism is enviable, he can survive on Cheetos and Twinkies and stay in tiny skinny jeans, but he’s developing a new commitment to working out, he’s started going to the gym a few days a week. He loves Star Wars movies, and has a weakness for gourmet ice cream, and will wax philosophical about the meaning of life with the slightest opportunity. His hair has a tendency to curl that he’s self-conscious about, his hands have callouses that always make Patrick wonder if he plays the guitar, and there’s a wistfulness to him that Patrick finds stupidly alluring, this attitude like something _great_ is on its way and Pete can’t wait for it to be here.

Patrick knows _so fucking much_ about Pete.

“Oh, fuck,” Patrick whispers to himself.

And then he buys Pete a little Yoda keychain for the next Secret Santa gift.

Pete’s expression when he gets the keychain is soft, pleased. He reaches out a finger to touch it delicately, and Patrick’s heart flutters in his chest like that fingertip is brushing him. Pete smiles at it, and Patrick’s cheeks heat up like Pete is smiling at him.

Patrick’s Secret Santa gift is a limited edition Ghostbusters poster, and Patrick isn’t surprised Pete knew he loves Ghostbusters but is surprised at how blatantly Pete is flaunting the Secret Santa cost rules.

***

Patrick finds himself, on the day before the office holiday party, breaking every single rule. He sidles up to Pete’s desk. Rule Number One: Never initiate conversation with Pete. Patrick breaks it.

Pete’s Yoda keychain, Patrick can’t help but notice, is swinging off a pushpin on Pete’s corkboard in a space of honor, right in Pete’s view as he taps away at his computer.

Pete looks at Patrick in surprise, which is fair enough, because Rule Number One. Rule Number One exists because Pete has such stupid pretty eyes that Patrick is always rendered speechless by them and it’s so annoying, Pete’s really so annoying, so it’s inexplicable that Patrick blurts out, “You’re my Secret Santa,” because, like, why does he _care_? But there’s Rule Number Two broken: Keep Secret Santas secret, or whatever.

Pete blinks. “Um,” he says.

“I mean, I know those are supposed to be secret and everything—"

“Yeah, it’s right there in the name,” Pete says awkwardly.

“Right, but, like, the thing is, I don’t know what to get you, okay? Could you just tell me what you want? I’ll go out and get you whatever you want.”

Pete looks at him for a second. And then he says, “Oh. Right. You’re my... Right. I mean. Okay. You know it’s like a twenty-dollar limit, right? You could just, like, get me, I don’t know, candles?”

“Do you like candles?”

“I don’t _not_ like candles.”

“Pete,” Patrick complains. “I want to get you something _nice_.” Why does he _say_ this? He needs to quit his job and never leave his house ever again.

Pete, with those beautiful eyes so steady on his, says, “Why?”

“Because...” Patrick gestures helplessly. He hopes Pete interprets the gesture as _because, I don’t know, your eyes are pretty and I like it when you smile please stop talking to me now and pretend I was never born_.

Pete just keeps looking at him evenly. Patrick’s not sure he’s interpreting Patrick’s gesture correctly.

Pete says, “I’m your Secret Santa, too.”

“I know,” says Patrick. “I mean, I kind of suspected.”

“Right. So why don’t I give you your gift early?” Pete opens his top drawer, pulls out a small box wrapped in bright pink paper with a zebra-print bow.

“They sell zebra-print bows?” Patrick says, because he doesn’t know what else to say.

“If you look hard enough.”

Pete looked hard enough to get him a special _bow_ , and Patrick can’t even figure out what gift to get him at all. Granted, Patrick doesn’t actually understand why a zebra-print bow was important to give him but he gets that Pete made an effort.

Patrick considers the gift in his hand. It’s small and light and his heart is thudding thickly. He says, “This is against the rules.”

“For sure,” Pete says. “One hundred percent. This entire conversation.”

Patrick glances up at Pete, then carefully unwraps the gift. The office is buzzing all around them, but Patrick knows nothing but the box in his hand, that he opens to reveal...a Chinese take-out menu.

“They’re the best,” Pete says enthusiastically. “I mean it. A plus plus.”

“Okay?” says Patrick, not sure what to make of this.

“I thought, like, maybe you might want to come over, and play some Xbox, and...have some Chinese food.”

Patrick stares at Pete. He knows he should say something but he just...stares at Pete.

“Hey, you two!” Amelia says, practically crashing into Patrick. “Did you just cheat and exchange your gifts already?!”

***

“He gave me a _date_ ,” Patrick says dazedly to Joe. “I mean, I think he’s asking me out on a date.”

“Patrick, a date involves leaving the house. He’s asking you for a good dick-tickle.”

"Never say anything like that to me ever again,” Patrick commands severely.

“It’s more important what _you_ said to _him_.”

“I... Nothing. I panicked.”

Joe gives him a look. “Patrick.”

“I know, I know, I know, I’m the worst, he’ll never forgive him.”

“It probably depends on what you give him tomorrow.” Joe shrugs. “He’d probably like a good dick—"

“What did I just say?” demands Patrick.

***

Office holiday parties are the worst. Patrick hates them. The music is awkward and the food is subpar and the only good thing is the open bar. Patrick downs some whiskey at the bar, and then some more. He’s not usually the type to be downing whiskey at office events but he needs it to be able to face Pete, who he’s been dodging all day, because he’s a fucking coward.

And then Pete is right there at the bar with him, because Pete is apparently not a fucking coward like Patrick.

“Look,” Pete says. “Patrick. I’m sorry for the... I was wrong to...”

Patrick shakes his head so hard that he runs the risk of dislocating tendons in his neck. He says, “No, no, no, no,” and grabs at Pete’s hands, which is so uncharacteristic of him that Pete looks shocked. Patrick explains, “I’ve had a little whiskey.”

“Okay,” Pete agrees slowly.

“You’re my Secret Santa,” Patrick continues desperately. “I have a gift for you.”

“Okay,” Pete agrees again, still slow, like Patrick’s not making any sense.

Patrick, before he loses his nerve, lurches forward and kisses him. It’s a sloppy brush of a kiss, a little off-the-mark.

Pete, looking stunned, murmurs, “Am I standing under mistletoe?”

“No, there isn’t _mistletoe_ ,” Patrick says, annoyed, and tries again, and it’s better, this time, it’s sweet, and soft, and when Patrick pulls back Pete’s gorgeous eyes have actually fluttered closed. He’s so still, where usually he’s a fidgeting whirligig of energy. Patrick wants to see him like this more often. Patrick wants to see him _every way_ more often. “Merry Christmas, Pete,” he whispers.

Pete’s eyes open. He blinks, syrupy and heavy. He says, “You didn’t have to kiss me if you didn’t want to.”

Patrick is surprised. “What? I wanted to. Very much.”

Pete looks suspicious. “Then why the whiskey?”

“Because I wanted to. Very much,” Patrick answers honestly.

Pete, after a moment, breaks into a wide smile. He says, “You can do it again, you know.”

“Kiss you?”

“Yes.”

Patrick feels brave. Patrick feels wanted. Patrick flirts back. “Spending limit was twenty bucks. That was your Secret Santa gift. Don’t push it, tongue is definitely worth more than twenty bucks.”

“Oh, all of a sudden you’re a strict Secret Santa rule-follower?”

Pete looks so delighted by Patrick, just _so delighted_ , there are Pete’s gorgeous eyes looking right at him in _delight_ , Patrick caused that. “I’m just saying,” Patrick says, “the big gifts don’t happen at the holiday office party.”

Pete laughs, braying and beautiful. “Thank fuck for that,” he says.

***

On New Year’s Eve, Patrick goes to Pete’s, and they play Xbox, and they order in Chinese. At midnight, they watch the ball drop in Times Square. Pete noses behind Patrick’s ear, breathes soft into the skin there, says, “Happy New Year, Patrick.”

“Yeah,” says Patrick, and tangles his hand into Pete’s hair, holds him close against him. “Totally.”


End file.
